June- July 2010
The Dad Award goes to Ilan Vanderson; for his abiding devotion to his son. That would be the line to use if dad was really being given such an award. If there was a yearly father award I would give it to him. I’m running this idea through my head as I pack for my much anticipated trip. I can’t believe I’m actually packing for a trip to South Africa. It’s not my first time out of the country, but this trip is on a level that cannot be compared to anything else.
More than a week ago at my graduation party slash birthday party, Dad stood to give a speech and the last words he said changed this summer.
With a glass of sparkling juice in his hands; the preferred non-alcoholic beverage because of family history with other impairing beverages, dad starts his speech by thanking everyone for coming. He thanks his parents and his siblings. He praises the love of his life, mom. He exalts his lovely daughters and then gets to me. He speaks of the wonderful son I am, the blessing I am in his life and my talented soccer skills. “I spoke with your trainers and coaches and they have all told me how talented you are. I couldn’t help but say to them ‘duh, he’s my son,’” he expresses as laughs sweep through the crowd.
“And they have also told me how ready you are for your college soccer career,” dad says enthusiastically.
“So I got to thinking of a way to reward you for graduating, for turning nineteen, and for diligently preparing yourself for college. I tried to think of a better way for you to experience soccer this summer. Then I remembered that 2010 is the year….of the World Cup….in South Africa.”
He didn’t have to carry on with his speech because as soon as he put World Cup and South Africa in the same sentence, he had won me over.
I’m heading to South Africa for more than a month. Zaine has been fussing all weekend still can’t believe it. He even joked about trying to find a way to fit in my suitcase. When I refused the suitcase idea, he tried to play the ‘I am Lod’s best friend’ card to convince dad to bring him along. But he does understand that this trip is a time for dad and me alone. The father-son trip of a lifetime. The thought of it makes me hop on and off my bed, going from one side of my room to the other. A little too kangaroo like. Then I have to remind myself that I am a nineteen-year-old and should act like one.
My eyes can’t wait to live it all live, watching the best and most watched sport in the world. The world will be watching on their TVs while I experience it all in the VIP section. Experiencing every goal, dribble, block, tackle, scream, chant, whistle, and the excitement of the game; it is a life’s dream.
“Experiencing South Africa World Cup live. That must have been exciting.”Dieudonné says.
I take out pans and eggs to make scrambled eggs. “Soccer has always been my life and it was always my father’s life as well. Sharing it together during one of the world’s most watched and most celebrated events, was such an unbelievable experience. And it was in Africa. I couldn’t help but be excited” I say. “My father was even more excited. He bought me a journal before our launch into the world cup. As a lover and writer of written words, he hoped that I would journal my everyday experiences.”
“He was planning on writing a book about the 2010 world cup from the point of view of a father-son experience. He hoped that he would glean from my journal as good input for the book. I journaled every day and I really enjoyed writing about our time there.” I explain.
I put scrambled eggs, two toasts, sliced mango pieces on three plates. I give a plate to Miradel, another to Dieudonné and the other I place on the table for myself. I put hot water, packs of tea, milk, sugar and three cups on the corner of the table. I pull a chair and join them at the table.
“Thank you” Dieudonné says.
“Thank you Dad” Miradel tells me.
“Enjoy,” I say.
Journal entry June 8
Arriving in Johannesburg is more than what I imagined. Everything reminds of the excitement this month has in store. Pictures of the world cup. People wearing soccer jerseys. Crazy excitement.
Dad diligently planned everything. A nice limousine picks us up at the airport.
“Is that our ride?” I ask. “You really went all out on this, huh.”
He smiles and nods as we get into the limo while our suitcases are placed in the trunk. First and only stop of the day is the hotel; where dad booked a nice suite. The trip has been a very long one. I wouldn’t mind sleeping and dealing with this jetlag for now.
I climb in the sheets and make my way to my first night sleep in South Africa. I wish it to be nightmare-free and for every night to be nightmare free.
Journal entry June 9
Morning, no nightmares, the journey has begun. I’ve never seen such a beautiful sunrise. For the first time this week, I’m up early morning, not because of nightmares but awaken by such beauty and expectative enthusiasm.
Shower and then breakfast is brought to the room. Dad has taken care of every detail for our stay. And since we have arrived three days before the opening ceremony, Dad and I get to travel around the city. I’m glad that he has decided to visit the country before the games consume our days. I’m also glad that I did my own homework on the country so that I can impress dad with how much I know. I did some reading on the city of Johannesburg; the largest city in South Africa by population. It is the world’s largest city not situated on a river, a lake, or a coastline. I learned some things through a few Google searches, but the scenery and the people of this country make their country worth experiencing in person.
In my head, our first stop should be a place where I can see all the animals I have always seen on TV. Africa is renowned for its diversified types of animals. I can’t leave Africa without seeing them. Of course not.
But dad seems to have other plans and I’m realizing it because our bus tour has just dropped us off at the Apartheid Museum. No wonder I didn’t really understand why our tour guy was only speaking of the apartheid when I wanted him to focus on the giraffes, gorillas and elephants we were going to see. This museum does not have the fun feel of a Safari. It is quiet serious. I read in a book that most visitors find themselves emotionally upset by its meticulous chronicling of the past history and its lasting memories.
The journey through this museum begins with the harsh reality of how our view of differences has shaped this world. You are first given passes that state that you’re either white or of another race. Then your eyes capture the realities behind racial profiling. Then you are overwhelmed by the all-white race classification board. I’m mostly overwhelmed by how cruel humankind can be toward human beings from different races. As I keep on reading and watching, apartheid’s history gets more violent, I start realizing what Pastor Baker always says in church. ‘We have all fallen short and we need to be saved and changed by God’s grace.’ Our evil destroys this earth, one human being at a time. But our faith and love helps us believe for a better place.
Nelson Mandela and many others, who stood for justice and truth in this country, understood that call to action. They carried out a mission without backing down, especially when all hope seemed lost.
This history leaves me speechless. On my way back to the bus, I barely have anything to tell dad. And I can tell that neither does he know what to say to me. I’m still processing all that I have learned in there. It can be quite easy to experience such a visit and leave unchanged. I decide to be changed by it. I pray that it will always flood my mind and remind me of the purpose of my calling, whatever it might be.
After dinner, Dad and I sit to talk. He asks me about my experience today and I can’t seem to find the words to answer him. And so he tells me that “memories are beneficial parts of life. And no matter how good or bad they seem to be, we have something to glean from them.”
I’ll never forget that. For the first time, I thought of my nightmares and smiled about them. Dad has learned so much over the years and today was a day when just two sentences he said will always impact the way I look at things.
Journal entry June 11
My excitement level has been high since Raleigh. I just can’t wait to be immersed in the South African World Cup experience. We arrive at the stadium for the greatly anticipated opening ceremony. A beautiful stadium inspired by the calabash, used as a symbol of welcome, friendship and hospitality in the African culture. South Africa made sure to incorporate the diversity and beauty of this continent into every detail of everything we are to experience during this World Cup. History is a big part of this country and they did include it in the opening ceremony as a reminder for everyone to strive in creating hope.
The African melting pot was such a great touch in the ceremony. It showed the diversity of this continent. The colorful and beautiful clothing, the dancing and the singing, the young and the old are the details that really represent the continent of Africa. This opening definitely blew my mind and exceeded my expectations. Africa has shown once again that it has so much to offer to this world.
Soccer City Stadium is full of people and excitement. People came for a great opening ceremony and just witnessed a great debut. They are ready for a great first game to set the tone for the rest of the World Cup.
The first game is between South Africa and Mexico in Johannesburg. They are two good teams going into this game expecting a good start. But I hope each team realizes the strength of the opponents. And the determination that drives each player and fan present. It is looking good for South Africa when Tshabalala scores at the 55th minute. The stadium goes wild. It’s as if the vuvuzelas are even louder. Mexico responds with a goal from Marquez at the 79th minute.
“A tie always keeps the mood a little cooler for countries and teams,” I comment in a conversation Dad is having with an old friend of his.
I’ve been meeting a lot of people; especially many of Dad’s old friends and a few of his teammates. It feels so amazing to be included in the circle of soccer greatness and to have a father who also had a good career in this great sport despite the rough times.
What a great game is the way I can describe this opening match. South Africa and Mexico are tied at the end. They have set a tone that simply tells every player and fan, that the competition is fierce.
Journal entry June 23
It has been two weeks since we’ve been in South Africa. I wake up every day with great expectations and everything I experience during the day exceeds my expectations.
Today is the third U.S. game. It has been pretty tight for the U.S. so far. I hope this match will shine more hope on the future of the U.S. team in this World Cup.
“And it’s the goal” dad shouts as we both cheer for the U.S. goal against Algeria. The crowd goes wild. “We’re moving forward. Let’s go USA.” I chant. I can barely hear myself scream with the vuvuzelas sounding in the background. Their sound makes the stadium feel like a beehive but without the stings and bees. The feeling of this experience is like no other. Such excitement.
Celebrations are in order after such a hopeful game for the U.S. Dad, his friends, and I go out in the great city of Pretoria to celebrate. We’re thinking nice ribs, mashed potatoes, mixed vegetables and good ice tea to celebrate the American way.
What a day. What a day indeed.
Journal entry June 26
We travel once again to another city to see a U.S. game. Many great cities. Another great stadium. Such great architecture. The beauty of the game and of the host country and its people is enough to make this trip super amazing. Round 16, I can feel the pressure. The winners head to the quarterfinals. Ghana is the team to beat if the U.S. is to be a step closer to getting that cup.
Things start to concern me when Ghana scores five minutes into the game. Five minutes into the game, quiet embarrassing and terrifying.
Past half time, it’s now time for the U.S. to step up and still earn a spot in the quarterfinals.
A penalty kick and goal for the US. We’re not going down that easy. At the end of the 90 minutes, the U.S. players can breathe and regroup before going back in the field.
Extra time begins well, three minutes later, a Ghanaian player outruns to U.S. players and scores. It is becoming a pattern. The U.S. is showing a slow momentum after the beginning whistle and that signals the other team to attack and score. The U.S. should have scored in those first five minutes of extra time. Sweating to bring about a goal under pressure doesn’t usually work out for the losing team.
At the end, the U.S. played its best and gave a show to its fan. It’s difficult to see a loss come out of such hard work but maybe next World Cup will be better.
It is quite disappointing but there’s still Brazil and Spain in the picture. Brazil for Zaine and Spain for my love for Barcelona. I can’t go wrong with that.
Journal entry July 2
During the intense game between Ghana and Uruguay, I get a Facebook message from Zaine telling me to check my emails. In the emails I find the names of the players in the college team and the schedule of games and practices. Zaine and I made the primary game list.
Once I tell dad the great news, he doesn’t stop bragging about the talented son I am. He invites his friends to a famous grill place in Johannesburg and we literally spend the whole night talking about soccer. And we also have awesome food. I have never had so much fun; ever, especially clean fun with this many adults. By the time we get back to the hotel, Baruti, our driver a Congolese immigrant, tells me it is almost 4am.
All I remember of that night are great talks and more great talks that lasted hours. Tonight really makes me question why dad would turn to so many bad behaviors when he had great teammates and friends. Most of his teammates and friends, from back in the days, do not even mention what happened to him during the seven crazy years. It is as if they never witnessed it or never coerced him into the lifestyle that destroyed his career before it really jolted. In his book, Dad doesn’t mention the names of those who pressured him into a lifestyle of drugs, alcohol and dealings. He did mention to me that everything started when he started hanging out with the wrong crowd. Especially Eli Chambers’ crowd. But he has never gone into more details than that. I’m learning so much more about dad and it is great to see this side of him. A side even his entourage recognizes as his real nature.
Journal entry July 12
Spain, the soccer champion of the world. Who would have thought?! I had my money on Brazil but they didn’t even reach the semifinals. Zaine must have been so unhappy about Brazil’s loss. I cannot wait to tell him about the many great things I experienced here. I took enough videos and pictures to give him a little look at the awesome things I experienced.
“You know Dieudonné, I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday and graduation present. And I had my dad to thank for that. He introduced me to a different world.” I say.
July 2010
The limousine brings us to the airport. As I get out of the limo, I realize how much I’m going to miss this place. The welcome of the people, the tastiness of the food, the beauty of living in this city and the many good memories I have made in the wonderful country of South Africa are all carved in me as monumental life experiences.
I am having this weird feeling that my travel home might be long and interesting. There are so many people at the airport. Even though I’m not in a hurry to leave this place, I am impatiently waiting for the time I get to see my family and tell everyone about this adventure.
Busyness and crowdedness cannot even explain the site of this airport. So many people are leaving the country. The crowd is building up by the minute. Judging from the jerseys, the silly fanatic outfits and the vuvuzelas in the hands of mostly children, most of those traveling came to South Africa for the World Cup.
While Baruti gets our suitcases out of the limo, I get lost in my thoughts as I watch people interact with one another. Some are happy, some sad, some are way too hyper, some sleepy, some are quiet and some are really loud. I get back to reality when I turn my attention to dad. He hugs and thanks B
aruti for his services. “Thank you Baruti, Baie Dankie” I articulate with the little Afrikaans I remember from Baruti’s daily lessons. We hug and then shake hands.
Dad and I hurry to the checking lines to make sure that we check in on time. We wait on the line with our many suitcases and the line doesn’t seem to get any shorter. Dad steps out of the line when he receives a call from Eli Chambers. I don’t know how I feel about dad speaking to Eli but I know that my dad is not the same man he used to be.
Knowing mom and how worried she gets when we’re not home as planned, she won’t be happy if we get home later than the time we planned to arrive.
The people in front of me on the line are as worried as I am at the site of the frustrated customers getting their new plane tickets. They are all complaining about the changes implemented by the airline company. Some are told that they are not on the flight they had booked. Others are being moved from one gate or airline to another and others from one flight time to another. Dad comes back on the line.
An hour later, we finally reach the checkpoint to get our boarding passes.
“Hello!” the hostess smiles.
“Busy, huh. I promise not to be a pain. As you can see I’m smiling.” Dad says trying to lighten the mood of the frustrated hostess. She has been dealing with unhappy customers and busy flight schedules. I’m actually amazed that she has kept her smile going till now. It takes training and a good heart not to flip out on some of these nasty costumers. I glance at the line behind me and can’t be happier to be so close to getting on the plane and arrive home. But one look at the security line and the smile is erased by the view of the time-consuming line awaiting us.
“Lod, you want the first class seat?” Dad snaps me back to the check point.
“I have to choose! I thought we both got first class tickets?” I ask as he gives me the first class ticket. I take a look at Dad’s ticket and he has an economy ticket. I can’t believe he agreed to take different seating.
“If we don’t take this plane, we can only make it home the day after your mother is expecting us to arrive.” Dad explains.
I nod and smile even though I can feel my chest getting heavy. South Africa is very busy this time of the year; it is probably difficult to keep track of those coming in and especially those leaving after the World Cup.
“Sorry again for the inconvenience, have a great trip home” she smiles at us.
“Thank You.” I say. Next is the long line to security and the start of a sixteen hours flight.
The plane took off about eight hours ago. I slept for the first four hours of the flight. And I have been silent for the other four hours. Shocking truth. I usually never stay quiet during trips. It is really a flight of firsts. This is not my first time flying first class. But it is definitely my first time flying first class without dad and without uttering a word. I am usually an outgoing person, open to meeting new people, making new experiences. I have never had difficulties meeting people. But starting a conversation with the girl on the seat next to mine has been difficult so far. She doesn’t seem to want to start a conversation with me. I have barely seen her face since I got on the plane; she has buried t in a drawing book.
With my little knowledge of the language’s grammar, I presume that her book is in French. I’m not 100% certain, but my few travels to France and my C in French class are enough for me to recognize the word ‘facile’, which means easy in French.
In French class, I was that kid who would use my charm to get the French teacher to give us easy exams. ‘Madame, nous méritons un examen facile’ I used to protest to her in my very strong American accent. It took me forever to learn how to properly say that sentence. Convincing the teacher to give us easy tests was even harder.
The seatbelt sign turns on and the captain addresses the passengers. He lets us know that we are arriving at our first stop in Dakar, Senegal and that the plane will be landing anytime soon.
About half an hour later, the plane lands and we are asked to remain in the plane for the next hour. Then we will continue our flight to D.C. While we wait, I get into a more comfortable position in hopes of starting a conversation with the girl. But as soon as I open my mouth to utter my first word, she closes shut her book, looks down the aisle. She then stands, leaves her book on the seat. I barely get a look at her face, when she walks the other way.
“Great” I say disappointed. When she enters the restroom, I turn to my window. I look out thinking of a better approach for conversation when the opportunity presents itself.
“Lod. Enjoying the view?” I hear a voice from behind.
I turn around, smile, there is Dad standing smiling back at me.
“It would be even more awesome if I was sharing it with my Dad” I respond desperately looking for a way to make him stay. But I know I can’t because the girl beside me will come back soon.
“You can sit.” I tell him nonetheless.
Dad points at the chair with the book on it. I shake my head. I don’t have much to tell him about her since I haven’t spoken to her.
“She headed to the bathroom. You can sit for a little.”
“A girl, huh.” he jokes. “Great neighbor, yeah. How’ is your trip going?”
“Quiet, very quiet. I have barely uttered a word, even to myself” I joke. Dad gives out a quirky laugh. He opens the girl’s drawing book.
“French? No wonder you haven’t been able to utter a word,” Dad says surprised.
“You know, you don’t have to be fluent in French to speak to a woman, even though it’s definitely a plus. Speaking from experience of course” Dad points out. He has always been a ladies’ man, especially because of soccer. But when he met mom, he lost all interest in impressing other women. During his crazy years, he cheated on mom with a few French girls and was able to pick up some of the language. French gave him more of an edge when picking up girls. I’m so glad he left those years behind. But he could have at least kept the little French he had learned; it could have been useful to me in the present time.
“If only you had kept your French, I would get enough words to start a conversation” I say. “You don’t really need the language you know. What tells you she doesn’t speak English?! And also just be you.” he encourages me. He always seems to know the right things to say to me.
Spending this month with Dad has reminded me of the great time I used to have with him. Although we’re unable to spend our flight back together, chatting about our great time in South Africa; I am glad to be sharing this time of my life with him.
I have been making small talks with Dad for the past twenty minutes. I did not realize that the girl has been in the toilet for quite some time. It might be the food troubling her stomach. That sucks for her but as long as I get to chat with dad, she can really take her time, no rush.
Dad and I start having a serious conversation. I bring up my desire to play for Barcelona in the future. At first I think he’ll discourage me from entering that circle because he doesn’t want me to repeat his mistakes. But he tells me of how supportive he is of my dreams.
“I believe in you and I want you to be your own man,” dad tells me. “But I also do realize that at some point the past can resurface and try to haunt you, to turn you into the man I used to be.”
“I trust that you will not be that man. I want you to be strong, determined, focused, poised, unshakable, and most of all, to always love the people in your life more than you love the game.” he expresses with so much conviction. “Family comes first and the game second. They were important before the game, they have to be important during the game and will be important when you’re too old to play the game.”
Everything he is saying resonates inside my head as I realize even more how much he really cares about me.
“Speaking from experience of course” he adds.
“Thanks dad. I needed to have that talk.”
I look up and there she is standing by her seat, quietly waitin
g for dad to stand. She doesn’t utter a word and waits quietly with her face looking back on the direction of the bathroom.
“Oh sorry,” I say. Dad sees her, stands and smiles. She smiles back, quietly sits and Dad gives her the drawing book.
“I’m glad we talked Lod,” dad smiles. “I love you son.” Most boys would be super embarrassed at having their father say ‘I love you’ when the girl they’re trying to talk to or impress is sitting right there. But I can’t help but feel loved not the least embarrassed.
“Love you dad” I respond with the biggest smile on my face.
The girl sits and we’re asked to get ready for takeoff. I can’t stay quiet for eight more hours. I am determined to chat with her, but when I turn to face her, her eyes are closed. She’s falling asleep with her head facing my way.
Finally seeing her face feels like an honor. She is cute. She has silky dark brown skin. In her teens. Maybe my age or a year older. She looks very well put together, simply clothed but very beautiful overall. I’m not an expert on body weight or anything that has to do with the anatomy of the human body, but she seems to be a little underweight. She seems bonier than most girls her age that I know. Maybe she is a model who has tried a little bit too hard to be perfect and missed the quote on quote mark for perfection.
The front part of her hair is braided in cornrows with a colorful hair band tied where the cornrows end and the afro starts. No makeup. She looks completely natural. She has an intriguing scar near her left eye. It runs from the corner of her eye sideways to her ear. It is small but its design is pretty hard to miss. I can maybe use that to start up a conversation. Or maybe not, it might be connected to something she doesn’t feel comfortable talking about.
I can’t believe I’m trying to unveil truths about this girl by making assumptions when I can just ask her. She is deeply asleep now, but when she wakes up, I hope we’ll get to chat a little. We have about eight more hours of flight and we’ll be in D.C. Let me take a nap and when I’ll wake, we’ll both be rested enough and we can chat for the rest of the flight. I close my eyes and start thinking of my conversation with dad.
Six hours later, someone firmly grabs my hand. I open my eyes and find the girl beside me intensely gripping my hand. Her eyes are closed shut. She seems frightened. It takes me a second to realize that the plane is shaking quite a bit. There is a very heavy thunderstorm and very strong winds. She is scared and doesn’t let go of my hand. I use my freehand to fasten my seat belt. I gently loosen my hand from her grip and hold her hand in both of my hands.
“Everything is going to be fine” I say reassuring her.
“Don’t be afraid.” She opens her eyes and looks at me. For the first time I get to see her beautiful brown eyes. They’re glowing with fear. A thunder strikes again, the plane shakes and start losing altitude. She closes her eyes and buries her face in my left shoulder.
The pilot addresses the passengers and tells us that there is a strong thunderstorm and very strong winds in the D.C. area. He asks everyone to keep seatbelts on until he says otherwise. I keep holding her hands for the next half hour while the pilot gets the plane farther from the thunderstorm and windy area.
About an hour later, the pilot addresses the passengers again. He lets us know that the plane is about to land in Harrisburg International Airport because the weather situation in D.C. does not permit any takeoff or landing. The news makes me happy that we’re safe. But I am concerned that Dad and I might not get home on time.
Forty-five minutes pass, the pilot announces the landing. As we get out of the plane, we are each given bus tickets with seat numbers on them. The crew tells us that because there are so many air traffic delays, we can take the bus that will be bringing those who need to be in D.C. today. The ticket gives the passengers free access to the buses. No extra pay. That is good news. No overnight stay in Pennsylvania. Dad joins me at the terminal and we decide to take the bus so that we can make it home today.
We get our suitcases. Forty-five minutes later, we head to the bus. I show my ticket and get in the bus. I look up to see my number and when I spot it, I look at the seat and there she is. My flight neighbor, her face once again buried in her French drawing book. She is sitting by the window. We’re sat buddies again.
I sit and make myself comfortable.
“What a day, huh” I say as the bus start moving.
She puts her book down and leaves it open on her lap. She looks at me, turns away and then smiles.
“I can’t wait to be home. And see my mom and my sisters.” She doesn’t react to any of my attempts to make conversation. She just smiles and stares at her drawing. I hope she does realize that it is getting darker out and that sooner or later; she is going to have to stop staring at her book and chat with me.
“Oh man, it’s starting to rain even more than before.” I comment about the raind.
“When I was little I always wondered how the clouds cried so much. I would ask my parents why the clouds were always sad.” I start telling her a story.
“One sunny day, my mom told me that during the day, it rains because the sun is taking a bath. And one night, my dad told me that during the night, it rains because the moon is taking a bath.”
She probably thinks I am some infantile creep. I don’t blame her; I wouldn’t want my child to speak to a stranger either. I wonder if she is traveling alone. She might be. Then she must be seventeen to be traveling alone all the way from Africa.
“I actually believed my parents. It’s funny how when we’re little, we really believe what our parents tell us.” I say.
I laugh and this time she laughs with me. But out of the blue, her laugh is turned to fear. I then realize that the huge bus is hydroplaning. She grabs my hand as we try to stay glued to our seats.
“Hold on” the bus driver shouts.
The bus does a first turn, then a second one. The bus starts hydroplaning even faster. It hits a few cars on the right and then hits a truck on the left before flipping over and sending the girl and me out the window.
When I open my eyes, I’m lost, unable to figure out what is happening. While on the ground, I can feel my aching body and the pouring rain washing the blood dripping down my face into my eyes. In a distance, I see what seems to be the left-over burning carcass of a bus.
I hear sirens. “Look for survivors.” someone shouts.
Am I a survivor, I think to myself? I can’t move, I can’t feel my body and I can barely see anything through my eyes.
Someone shouts that someone is breathing, someone is alive. The first person that comes to mind is dad. Dad is alive. And I’m alive as well. I am alive. How will they know that I am also alive? Unable to do anything else but wait, I lay there motionless; eyes open, praying that they find me too. Hopefully alive.
“He’s alive.” someone shouts and runs to me.
“Stay with me. You’ve been in vehicle accident, please stay with me” he says touching my face trying to keep me from fading away. But I can’t help but close my eyes. He reaches to get a pulse from my neck as my strength dissipates and my consciousness fades away.
“Wow. I was not expecting that.” Dieudonné comments. I smile and place another puzzle piece in the right spot.